Chapter 39: The Union Between the Family of Rabbi Baruch and Rabbi Moshe

00:01 We continue the story of Rabbi Moshe’s life, while also telling of Rabbi Baruch Batlan and the chassidim of Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem of Zamosc. We told of Binyamin’s wedding to the daughter of Rabbi Aharon the melamed, and all the astonishing things that happened there—including the messenger of the Baal Shem who surprised everyone present. Now we continue the story. Binyamin and his wife, Rabbi Aharon the melamed’s daughter, lived at the table of his father, Rabbi Baruch Batlan, for two years. During those years Binyamin studied Torah with great diligence. Afterward, he was appointed rabbi of Grodno, a community renowned for its Torah scholars. Rabbi Binyamin’s name became celebrated in the communities of Poland and Lithuania, and beyond them as well. In time, the family ties between Rabbi Moshe and Rabbi Baruch grew even closer. Rabbi Moshe’s younger son, Schneur Zalman, married Rachel, Rabbi Baruch’s scholarly daughter, while Rabbi Moshe’s daughter Freida married Kaddish, Rabbi Baruch’s brilliant nephew, who was famous for his great scholarship, as we saw in the recent stories... Later, some years afterward, something very distressing happened to Kaddish. At the age of thirty-five, he fell dangerously ill and remained unconscious for a long time. Many prayers were said for his welfare, and many segulos were performed for his recovery. Only after several months was he out of danger, but he had lost the power of speech. When he finally got out of bed, it became clear that his memory had been severely weakened—to the point that he had forgotten everything he had learned. Even blessings and prayers he had to recite from the siddur with great effort. At first, because of his condition, the doctors even forbade Rabbi Kaddish to look into a book. After a year he was permitted to read, and he slowly began to study and make progress again, but he never regained his former scholarship. By that time

03:08 Kaddish’s mother was no longer alive. He often said sorrowfully that he had to thank Hashem that his mother had not lived to see him after he had forgotten his Torah learning... But while Kaddish had no mother to grieve over his condition, he did have a father-in-law and mother-in-law, a wife, and his uncle Rabbi Baruch. The pain of all of them was great. The material burden of supporting Rabbi Kaddish and Freida naturally fell on his father-in-law, Rabbi Moshe, though it was no burden for the wealthy head of the Poznań community. What Rabbi Moshe could not accept so calmly, however, was that Kaddish, once so renowned for his scholarship, had become an am ha’aretz in the most literal sense. Everyone was pained to see that this man, so knowledgeable and brilliant that his name was celebrated throughout the Torah world, now had to struggle over a verse in Chumash or a passage in Mishnah. Studying Gemara was entirely out of the question in his condition. Nor did Rabbi Moshe derive much satisfaction from his son Rabbi Schneur Zalman, who had become Rabbi Baruch’s son-in-law. This son, Rabbi Schneur Zalman, was indeed a scholar, great in Torah, and surpassed his two brothers in that respect. But Rabbi Moshe expected his son to be like him, combining Torah and worldly standing, and therefore wanted him to devote some of his time to business. He even set aside a very substantial sum for him to start a business, so that he could attain an excellent financial position and stand on his own feet. But Rabbi Schneur Zalman told his father that he had no intention whatsoever of engaging in commerce or dealing directly with worldly matters. What did Rabbi Schneur Zalman want to do instead? He wanted to teach children. Rabbi Moshe heard this and was stunned. He said to his son, “You’ll be poor and lacking bread all your life.” Rabbi Schneur Zalman replied, “I would rather

05:52 be a penniless melamed than a wealthy merchant.” “And what,” Rabbi Moshe asked, “does your wife Rachel think? She comes from a wealthy home and is used to having all her needs met. Does she realize that she may one day go hungry?” Rabbi Moshe was sure this question would corner his son and bring his strange idea to an end. But Rabbi Schneur Zalman gave his father a clear answer. Rachel, as a devoted wife, had gladly agreed to her husband’s wish, without any need to persuade her. On hearing this, Rabbi Moshe understood that he could not change his son’s mind. He also assumed that even if Rabbi Schneur Zalman wanted and agreed to enter the business world, he would not succeed at it. Rabbi Moshe thought sorrowfully to himself about what would become of his son after his own passing. As long as Rabbi Moshe lived, he could certainly support his son and his family—but what would happen afterward? In truth, though, this was not merely a question for after a hundred and twenty years. How could even the wealthiest person be certain he would not one day lose his fortune? Indeed, Rabbi Moshe had long sensed that hard times were approaching for Poznań. He had a feeling that the day was nearing when the Jews would be forced to leave the city. In those days, a wealthy Jew could not feel secure in his good fortune. Dangers lurked on every side, and many troubles befell the Poznań community. For a long time, Rabbi Moshe, as head of the community, had managed to avert many decrees that threatened it. But the time came when even he asked, “From where will my help come?” And indeed, a calamity arrived that no one could have foreseen. Note that this is actually a continuation of the story we told a few days ago, about the accusation that the Jews had thrown the statue of that man into the garbage, and Rabbi Moshe accused one of

08:33 the young priests of having done it himself. We remember the story of Rabbi Moshe’s courage: how he managed to silence the inflamed priests at the meeting where the accusation was raised that the Jews had desecrated the statue of that man by taking it down from its place in the center of the city and throwing it into the garbage. Rabbi Moshe, as head of the Jewish delegation, firmly and proudly rejected the accusation and managed to prevent the great disaster that threatened the Jews of Poznań. Afterward, the head priest began investigating Rabbi Moshe’s counteraccusation: that none other than the young priest who had so loudly incited people against the Jews had committed the deed. It turned out that he had. The priests could not forgive him for it. They approved of his intended goal—a clever scheme to harm the Jews—but to them, what he had actually done, smashing the statue with his own hands and throwing it into the garbage, was an unforgivable act. Even the young priests, his companions, began distancing themselves from him. Rebuked by the elders and shunned by the younger men, the young priest who had committed the act decided to leave Poznań. He traveled to the Christian center in Rome. At the Vatican, his fortunes improved. He spent eleven years there, honing his oratory skills and successfully carrying out his assignments. Then news reached the pope that the bishop of Poznań had died. None other than this talented priest, a native of Poznań, was chosen for the position. When the Jews of Poznań learned the identity of the new bishop, they became anxious about the future, assuming that this enemy of the Jews would do everything he could to harm them. But to everyone’s surprise, the new bishop began speaking in favor of the Jews and urging the non-Jews to draw closer to them. He went so far as to call on non-Jewish youth to mingle with the Jews so that they would become one people. Being a brilliant speaker

11:13 The new bishop had a great influence on the public, and within a year, friendships had already developed between Jewish and non-Jewish young people, much to the distress of the rabbis, the community leaders, and all faithful Jews. Before long, a young non-Jew came to the beis din in Poznań and asked to convert. The beis din rejected his request in accordance with halachah, which determines when a conversion may or may not be performed. Word of the incident spread quickly and caused an uproar among the clergy and Christian leadership. Such audacity! To turn down someone who wanted to join the Jewish people? The Jews of Poznań were bewildered. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Young Christians wanted to convert, and the priests insisted that the Jews accept them as converts. Rabbi Moshe, the head of the community, was especially perplexed. As someone familiar with the world in general and the Christian world in particular, he knew very well how eager the Church was to win Jewish souls. Yet suddenly the Church wanted its own young people to become Jews, and when they were refused, it raised an outcry. He was all the more astonished because he knew that this was coming from the bishop. He vividly remembered the bishop’s hatred of Jews in previous years and the fact that he had nearly brought disaster upon the community. It was clear to Rabbi Moshe that this bishop had not suddenly become a friend of the Jews. Something was undoubtedly behind his change of attitude and his encouragement of friendship between Jews and Christians. Rabbi Moshe could surmise that the real aim was to bring Jews to convert to Christianity, not the other way around, but he could not get to the bottom of what was happening. The whole affair seemed mysterious to him. Some time later, Rabbi Moshe had occasion to travel abroad on business, as he often did. This trip took him to Germany, France, and Italy. While in Italy, he also visited Rome and, as was his custom, met with scientists and intellectuals. Among other things, it came about that he also visited

13:55 the Vatican and spoke with senior scholars there about matters of faith and other general subjects. This gave him an opportunity to investigate the meaning of the bishop of Poznań’s new tactic of seeking friendship with the Jews. Rabbi Moshe did not hide the fact that the Jews of Poznań were uneasy about this strange development. To his great astonishment, he learned that the initiative had not, in fact, come from the bishop of Poznań, who had previously incited people against the Jews, but from the Vatican itself. For many years, the Catholic Church had tried to force Jews to convert by force of arms. Eventually it realized that this approach would achieve nothing: the more harshly the Jews were treated and harassed, the more stubborn they became. Even the priests’ harshest decrees had not brought a single Jew closer to Christianity. The Church therefore concluded that it should treat the Jews generously. They should be treated as equals, and the Jewish religion should not be spoken of disparagingly. As part of this approach, Christians would also be allowed to become Jews if they wished. The calculation, however, was that even if a Christian here or there converted to Judaism, this openness would ultimately lead dozens of Jews to convert to Christianity. The overall aim, then, was to capture Jewish souls by gentle means rather than harsh ones. Rabbi Moshe was deeply shaken. At last he had learned of the Church’s dark scheme. What could he do? Meanwhile, while Rabbi Moshe was away from Poznań, the bishop continued delivering speeches overflowing with supposed friendship toward the Jews. He declared explicitly that Christians should draw close to Jews and mingle with them, even if that meant adopting the Jewish religion. After the case of the young Christian man whose request to convert had been rejected, a young Christian woman appeared with a similar request. She too was turned away, with various explanations. Then an incident occurred that caused an enormous stir among the Jews of Poznań and the surrounding area. In a village near Poznań, where

16:38 several Jewish families lived, a young Jewish man inherited the tavern after his parents died. The young man was completely unlearned. His father, himself a coarse, unrefined villager, had never sent him to a teacher, so he did not even know what a Hebrew letter looked like. When he took over the tavern, he realized that it would be good to have someone to help him. A young non-Jewish woman worked there, and he thought she was capable of helping run the business. The Jewish man proposed marriage to her, and she agreed. They decided that each would remain in the religion into which they had been born. When the Jews of the village learned of this, they began to admonish the young man and reproach him for what he had done. “What are you talking about?” the young Jewish man said to them. “I heard the priest say with my own ears that Jews and non-Jews are allowed to marry each other, and that the rabbis have permitted it too.” When they explained to him that only the priests had given such permission, he initially refused to believe it. But after thinking it over, he said, “If it really is true that only the priests permitted it, that means they are the only sensible ones. What is wrong with intermarriage?” This was a grave breach in the wall separating Jews from non-Jews—the first result of the Church’s influence through its supposedly favorable attitude toward the Jews. When Rabbi Moshe returned from his trip, he found the entire Poznań community in an uproar. The responsible, earnest Jewish leaders were outraged. They saw that the Church had spread a terrible net before Jews of weak character. The rabbis, dayanim, and communal leaders held meeting after meeting until they concluded that vigorous steps were needed to block the path of Jews who might slide into assimilation. They issued public notices to the Jewish community on the matter. Then a severe ban was proclaimed against any attempt to breach the wall. Jews were absolutely forbidden to have contact with non-Jews except for business. At the same time, the Poznań community lodged a strong protest with the priests

19:10 over their efforts to capture Jewish souls. These measures had a strong and immediate effect on the Jews. They began to keep their distance from the priests and from Christians generally, except in business matters. When the bishop of Poznań saw that all his efforts to win Jewish hearts through pleasant means had come to nothing, he had no reason left to conceal his true face as an enemy of the Jews. He promptly went to the city governor with an accusation against them: the Jews, he claimed, had insulted the Christian religion. To substantiate his claim, he presented the governor with a translation of the notice the Poznań community had circulated against assimilation and mingling with non-Jews. Naturally, the translation was full of distortions designed to prove his point. The bishop forcefully demanded that the Jews be treated with great severity and a firm hand, and that a very heavy financial penalty be imposed on them. “We have treated them gently for long enough,” he said. “The time has come to teach them a lesson.” A series of decrees and persecutions began. Trouble after trouble befell the Jews of Poznań. Their enemies worked tirelessly and energetically, in various ways, to harm them. For two years, from 5478 to 5479, the Jewish communal leaders struggled fiercely against their enemies. They used every means to protect the community’s continued existence, but as soon as one trouble ended, another followed. All Rabbi Moshe’s efforts and stratagems failed to thwart the schemes of the bishop and his associates, especially in the economic sphere. Rabbi Moshe saw clearly that the priests had a deliberate, persistent plan to impoverish the Jews of Poznań and plunder the community’s wealthy members. Rabbi Moshe called a meeting of all the leaders of the Poznań community and told them that there was no choice: they had to leave Poznań. To avoid attracting the attention of their enemies, he proposed that the relocation of the entire community, along with everyone’s property, be carried out with great care and in complete secrecy,

21:51 for their enemies lay in wait for the Jews at every turn. At that meeting, they worked out a thorough, comprehensive plan for leaving Poznań in an orderly, carefully planned way, and would draw lots to determine who would leave first and who would leave later.